


But You're Friction

by tresshots



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Needs To Use His Words, Fluff and Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-22 01:58:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8268443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tresshots/pseuds/tresshots
Summary: “Seal it with a kiss?” Stiles licks at his lips. Derek is 0.001 seconds away from just grabbing him when he cracks up. “God, your face. No. But I’ll take your pinky promise, though,” Stiles sniggers and that’s it, then. They go through with a pinky promise ritual, Stiles making them both say it clear and loud: if neither one of them is already hitched when they’re 30, they will marry one another.
or, the “remember when we were in high school and we swore that if we were still single at 30 we’d marry each other, well hey guess whose birthday it is" au





	

**Author's Note:**

> So the tumblr wedding prompt saga continues. For some reason I find Derek's POV incredibly difficult to write, but I did my best and will keep digging into him. The day will come when I reach his inner voice!

Jungle’s strobes have been creating enticing shadows across Stiles’ already incredibly beautiful face for the last ten minutes he’s spent complaining about how nobody ever wants to dance with him. Derek is understandably grasping to the very last piece of his mental sanity when Stiles delivers the final strike.

“It’s my 21st birthday, and I’ve never even been kissed,” he says. Derek’s jaw sort of drops, because _what_? He’s about to accuse Stiles of being the biggest liar _in the entire universe_ when he continues. “I mean of course I’ve kissed people, I’m not a total loser, but it’s always happened in a drunken haze. Nobody’s ever wanted to kiss me sober, so there’s that.”

That’s so wrong on so many levels. Derek would like nothing more than shake Stiles at the shoulders and yell about why he’s kissing any other people at all when he could be kissing Derek, but he doesn’t, because he may be an all American Alpha on the surface, but that’s smoke and mirrors; rejection has never been his forte.

“I’m sure there’s a lot of people who want you,” Derek says, and it’s killing him not to continue, _like me! Please consider me for your future sexual partner!_

“Hate to disappoint you, but nobody has ever wanted to get with this. And do you know how many times I masturbate per day? _Many_. It’s a crying shame, actually, that nobody wants to put all this sexual overdrive to use.”

“Stiles,” Derek groans. He’s struggling to keep his claws in. “Are you’re saying you’re…”

“A sad little virgin?” Stiles snorts into his drink. “Yeah. And I know I can be an annoying little shit but I feel like I would try my best at being somebody’s boyfriend, you know? I don’t need anybody to love me ‘cause I know that’s hard, but I just want a _chance_.”

So Stiles is untouched. Great, that doesn’t make Derek want to pop his knot right there at all. He thinks maybe he should offer, but doesn’t know how to do that without sounding creepy, so he tries for consolation instead. “Well, it’s not like I have such a great track record with relationships either, so. Here’s to us.”

He picks up his beer and clinks it against Stiles’ ridiculously flashy drink, meanwhile Stiles looks like he’s having the idea of a lifetime. “We should totally make one of those deals, you know, the marriage ones!”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, like – if we’re both still single at 30, we’ll marry each other. Alright?”

“You must be kidding,” Derek hides his wince best he can. He doesn’t want to marry Stiles when they’re 30; he wants to make an honest man of him _five years ago_.

“No, it’s brilliant!” Stiles looks really into it. “I get that it’s a downgrade for you, but you don’t have to actually sleep with me or anything. We’d just have some company. You do like me that much, right? You wouldn’t let me become a sad pathetic recluse, would you?”

“Sure I like you,” Derek cry-chuckles because it’s funny until it’s not, because Stiles turns to stare at him like he’s actually concentrating to keep his eyes from going all drunk dizzy.

“Dude, we should totally swear it on something.”

“Like what?”

“Seal it with a kiss?” Stiles, unconsciously or not, licks at his own lips.

Derek is 0.001 seconds away from just grabbing Stiles when he cracks up.

“God, your face. No. But I’ll take your pinky promise, though,” Stiles sniggers and that’s that, then. They go through with a pinky promise ritual, Stiles making them both say it clear and loud: if neither one of them is already hitched when they’re 30, they will marry one another.

Stiles keeps giggling and Derek would like nothing more than stifle it with his tongue, but he keeps his poker face and thinks, _God, I wish_. He’s 97% sure when they’re both 30 Stiles will have been taken by somebody who’s happy and good with feelings, wherein Derek will still be a sad little soul who only has a pillow to keep him warm at night.

 

Derek is seriously considering his life choices when he herds his drunken pack of 20-somethings back to the restored Hale house. They’re all loud and lewd and disappear upstairs pair by pair, and Derek is just happy everybody’s in one piece when he finishes picking up all the bottles from the living room.

He thought he had everything under control as he goes to check the kitchen, but _then_ he’s met with the sight of a mostly naked Stiles with -

“What are you doing? That’s whipping cream, put it back,” Derek very much does not whine. His sudden entrance only makes Stiles flinch and drop some of the cream on his bare chest.

“But I want another shot,” Stiles whimpers.

“Of whipping cream?”

“Why not? Looks like it’s the only cream I’ll be getting tonight.”

“Shut up and get upstairs.” Derek’s being tested or punished or rewarded, or maybe it’s a cocktail of all.

“But Derek, where ‘m I gonna sleep?” Stiles asks with such wide, drunken eyes, and nope, this can’t be anything else but a test.

“You can have my bed,” Derek explains perfectly patient, which he probably at least partly regrets as it makes a huge smile spread on Stiles’ face, and he takes a couple of steps in his direction.

“You’re so nice,” Stiles sighs tenderly and starts _patting_ at Derek’s face, _what_. “Nobody ever believes me, but you are. You’re, like, the best. And I really love your eyebrows.”

“Uh, thanks,” Derek swallows. How can he feel this naked with all his clothes on?

“So nice,” Stiles repeats and he’s not really looking at Derek but he’s not looking at anywhere else either, and Derek doesn’t know how that even works, just knows the softness of Stiles’ fingertips on his stubble and the way he’s staring at Derek’s mouth.

“Stiles.”

“What?”

_Is he trying to kiss me_ , is Derek’s first thought which is immediately followed by, _am I going to let it happen_? And then, _too late, it’s happening_.

Stiles, admittedly, tastes like whipped cream, cigarettes and about seven different liquors, and it’s the best thing Derek’s ever had.

It’s exactly the opposite of whatever scenarios Derek’s ever entertained about their First Kiss™; he’d always thought it would be after a near death experience, filled with desperation and relief and love confessions and fingers gripping too tight at each other.

The reality is: a simple brush of lips, so light and cautious, and over way too soon.

“Just wanted a taste,” Stiles mumbles. “Since we’re gettin’ married and all.” He’s still caressing Derek’s jawline, and he looks warm and lazy wherein every single nerve ending of Derek is on fire.

“Please, let me – “ Derek breathes helplessly and maybe this is a bad idea, Stiles is really drunk and doesn’t know what he’s doing, but it’s not like Derek would – he just, that could barely be called a taste, okay? He just wants to suck on Stiles’ tongue a little bit, that’s all.

Stiles yawns and then he stumbles so that Derek will have to catch him, which he does happily, does he ever, and that’s such a clear move, even Derek knows it. Because now his arms are _coincidentally_ wrapped tight around Stiles’ waist, and Stiles’ face is buried in his neck, and so Derek so daringly presses a tiny little kiss just beneath his ear, and he feels warm and alive and cared for, can’t believe Stiles is trusting him with this, but he’ll do his best to keep his part.

“Stiles, look at me,” Derek says and thinks he’s just shy when he won’t even budge, just keeps breathing calmly right in his neck, and okay, no matter how nice or comfortable this is, he’s getting a little nervous at the way Stiles isn’t responding, so he peeks down just a little and Stiles is –

he is –

“Are you _sleeping_?”

And of course Stiles doesn’t answer, because he’s passed out. Derek’s first thought is overwhelming disappointment, because what else? Is he so boring, such a bad kisser Stiles had – but no, whatever, he had one kiss by Stiles’ own volition, and that’s more than he’s ever deserved, so.

Derek likes to think himself a kind man, so he battles his frustration. Carries Stiles in princess hold upstairs to his own bedroom and lays him carefully on one side, settles down to another. Gives Stiles the tiniest of forehead kisses and falls asleep to the thoughts of _happy_ and _safe_ and _for fuck’s sake I’m an adult surely I should have more control over my boner than this_.

 

He wakes up to a piercing shriek right next to his ear.

It’s thanks to his supernatural grace alone he doesn’t end up on the floor. “What the fuck is the matter with you?” he turns to Stiles who's staring at him, eyes wide as plates.

“Derek!” Stiles screeches.

“Stiles!” Derek gasps mockingly back at him.

“I’m in your bed!”

“Yes, and?”

“Did we, uh… I mean, we didn’t…” Stiles swallows and it’s a small miserable sound. He’s even paler than usual, grasping at his own sheet, looking like this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to him.

Well, at least Derek won’t have to wonder about the kiss anymore.

“What sort of a person do you take me for?” Derek asks and it comes out low, honest rather than defensive which is what he was going for. “You were drunk off your ass, the couch was taken, so I let you sleep here.”

“Right, sorry. I’ve heard I can be pretty tactile when I’m drunk, so. I don’t always have complete control over my mouth.”

“Don’t worry, you passed out right away.”

“Oh thank God,” Stiles breathes and the tension leaves his impressive shoulders just like that.

“Yeah, right,” Derek mutters and he wouldn’t admit the burning of his eyes to _anyone,_ gets up from the bed to hide his face.

“Where are you going?”

“Coffee,” Derek grumbles, _fucking dickhead_ left unsaid.

 

* * *

 

Derek turns 30 when Stiles is 26. He’s a Junior Deputy, and Stiles is just finishing his Master’s degree. Half the station and all of the pack and even some of the neighborhood packs have come to Derek’s birthday party.

It’s a small but content one – the Hale house is full of people, humans and superhumans alike, and Derek is having a beer with the Sheriff. Stiles is at the grill and for some reason talking about the width of Derek’s shoulders. Derek would vehemently defend his blush for being a little tipsy if anybody asked.

The evening falls around them and everybody is getting drunk and happy. It's way past midnight when the house clears, except of course Derek's pack stays, and it’s obvious Stiles has been drinking a lot. He pretty much parks himself in Derek’s lap and then proceeds to tell everybody about the deal they made all those years ago, the one that’s been haunting Derek for so long. Nobody laughs, though, even when it's clearly meant as a joke. No, they just stare at them in a ‘yeah, I could see that’ sort of way, and Derek feels overheated – there must be a reason why Stiles is bringing it up, right?

Of course – he remembers the deal, and they’ve always pretended the kiss never happened, but now that Derek is thirty, he will – they will -

\- Stiles will just sort of pat at his shoulder and head upstairs to his own bedroom. Derek will lie awake the whole entire night, tossing and turning. Seems like he bought the ring for nothing.

 

* * *

 

Derek emerges from the shower wearing only his usual tight black briefs and is so, so happy there’s nobody around to witness his slight jump when a loud shout carries all the way from downstairs.

“Can you bring me a Dr. Pepper?”

Derek doesn’t know whether it tells more about him or Stiles that he’s the only person able to sneak to the house, and furthermore that he’s the only person Derek would ever take such an order from. So far Stiles has remained somewhat unaware of the power he holds over him, and he simply doesn’t know whether that’s bad or good.

Obediently like the good little domesticated werewolf he is, he somersaults downstairs and fetches the soda from the kitchen before heading to the living room.

Stiles looks like a fucking dream, slouched lazily across the couch, what else is new.

“You should really stop drinking those,” Derek says as he throws the offending item to him and plops down on the couch, not quite close enough so that they’d be touching, but so he’ll still be able to get his fill of Stiles’ sweet scent.

“Happy 30th birthday to me too,” Stiles says as he pops the can open. “Don’t you have a gift for me?” He looks Derek up and down, and Derek would never admit it but he’s a bit disappointed when his gaze doesn’t linger on his physique longer than necessary.

“You’ll get it at the party,” Derek grumbles and avoids all thoughts of the ring box still hidden in his underwear drawer. “Why are you here?”

“Lydia kicked me out of the house, said I don’t provide anything else but disturbance to her decorator mastermind,” Stiles shrugs and takes a casual sip from his poison. “So, hey. Have you been seeing anyone lately?”

“I saw Scott yesterday.”

“You know what I mean, dumbass.”

And yes, unfortunately Derek _does_. What he doesn’t know is why the hell Stiles thinks this is the appropriate topic of discussion right now. “No. Have you?”

“See, that's funny, because I heard you and Deputy Hoffman were spotted in the diner last week,” Stiles says, and it’s not quite a question, but there’s something in the way he says it that makes Derek’s skin crawl.

“So?”

“Congratulations, then.” Stiles stares at his own toes.

The silence stretches on.

“I’m not dating Julie,” Derek bites out.

“Why not?”

“Why should I?”

“She’s good-looking. You’re you. You’d look good together. And I heard she’s nice.” Stiles sits up, looking terribly interested now.

“So just because she looks good and is nice, I should be dating her?” Derek asks incredulously. Stiles has been doing this for months now, pestering Derek about his nonexistent love life, and it’s taking a toll on him.

“Well, why not? What’s wrong with Julie?”

Exactly how daft can Stiles _be_? Sure he’s not a wolf so he doesn’t get the extra sensory abilities, but how can he be _this_ blind?

“Nothing’s wrong with Julie, but she’s not what I want,” Derek explains slowly and patiently like he’s talking to a child.

“Okay, _fine_.” For a moment Derek thinks that’s it then, but Stiles has never been the kind to give up easy. “Then who is?”

“Why do you care so suddenly?”

“Suddenly, right. Can’t a guy make some innocent conversation anymore?” Stiles complains.

“And now you’re blaming me. Great,” Derek knows he’s being a passive-aggressive dick, but hey, who keeps company with wolves learns to howl, after all.

“What would I blame you for? Ugh, whatever. Hey, did you happen to see – ”

Derek doesn’t feel like taking part in Stiles’ games, he’s the master of deception and they will soon be arguing about cheese or something equally absurd if he lets Stiles continue. “What about you, why aren’t you dating anybody?”

Stiles crosses his arms defensively across his chest. “I don’t want to,” he says, and they’re four simple words delivered with a soft _blip_.

Derek blinks. Speaks softly. “That was definitely a lie.”

“What the fuck, dude, stay out of my heart,” Stiles says and he’s – is he _blushing_?

Has Stiles been _harboring feelings_ for someone? Derek didn’t think – sure he knows Stiles has dated people and sometimes has smelled the occasional one night stand on him, but he’s never thought there’d be someone so special. “Are you... who is it?”

“It’s nothing, really.”

“I could start naming names.”

“Just drop it, man. Seriously,” Stiles looks anxious as hell.

Derek wants to hunt this mystery person down and tear them apart, from limb to limb, wants to murder everyone Stiles has ever touched, wants to slaughter the entire _planet_ so they’ll be the last two people on Earth and Stiles will _have_ to love him then.

No-one’s ever blamed Derek for being mentally stable. Wonder why.

“So that’s how this works. You can torment me for months but when I even hint at your own love life, you get angry at me,” Derek muses and buries his now claws under cushions.

“I’m not angry, just curious. That’s all,” Stiles says and what would you know, _another fucking blip_.

Derek is _livid_ , and this is getting dangerous, his wolf howling inside.

“Would you stop lying to me?” he growls.

“Stop listening my heart!”

“No.”

Stiles blinks, dumbfounded. “What do you mean, no?”

“I want to know what this is about.”

“There’s nothing going on, Derek, seriously. I can leave if you want me to,” Stiles sighs and he’s burying his hands in his hair, which makes Derek want to _pull at it when he’s fucking Stiles from behind, taking him like a good little bitch, he should be under me now, coming around my cock._

“I never want you to leave.” Derek is not proud to say that’s snarled around a hint of fangs.

“That sounded oddly like a threat.” Stiles’ mouth is hanging open, he doesn’t even fucking know what he’s doing, what he looks like, but it’s too late – Derek just wants a kiss, maybe, to make him come, maybe, God, _anything, anything_.

“I don’t want to date Julie or anybody else.”

There’s no doubt of what it is: an admission, the words bigger than life in their meaning. Derek is shaking in his skin, but Stiles – his foolish, beautiful boy – he sort of deflates like all life has been sucked out of him. “Okay, that’s cool. You can do whatever you want,” he mumbles and starts smelling like _humiliation_ and it’s the only reason Derek finds it in himself to continue.

“You’re not listening.”

“Trust me, I am.”

“I’ve had it with your bullshit,” Derek snaps. “Nine years ago, we made a deal. So I waited. And I know it’s stupid, that you haven’t done the same, but it is what it is. So how _dare_ you come into my house and ask me about Julie, when I’m _yours_.“

Derek is working up quite the impressive rage, and that’s why he doesn’t at first get that Stiles’ mouth is moving, can’t hear anything from the pounding in his head.

“What?”

“But I have.” Stiles’ heart rate shoots _up_.

"Have what?" Derek is profoundly ignoring the sound of his own chest.

Stiles cocks his head. “I did my waiting, nine years of it,” he says, throws his head back and laughs.

This is what Derek gets after fourteen years of loving Stiles: a thinly veiled Harry Potter reference serving as a love confession. He does the only thing he can:  _pounds_.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he’s gnawing at Stiles' offered neck, working his mark there. He’ll carve a home for himself out of Stiles and he’ll never leave.

“You’re so stupid,” Stiles says but it’s not a complaint, not really. Derek can tell because his fingers escape into Derek’s hair and tug, hard and with meaning.

“Yeah.”

Stiles hums. “So am I.”

“Definitely true.” It’s quite interesting how Derek can cover all of Stiles under him and still keep kissing his neck.

“I am so going to marry the hell out of you,” Stiles continues.

“Okay,” Derek agrees, and that’s the last thing either of them says for a while.

(He gives his gift to Stiles fifteen minutes after they make love for the first time. Stiles says yes. The ring fits him perfectly.)


End file.
